


Subspaces & Paradoxes

by thatColdRain



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Major Original Character(s), Multi, Original Character(s), Role-Playing Game, Science Fiction & Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:46:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatColdRain/pseuds/thatColdRain
Summary: A story about 12 alien kids playing a game of RPG. Governments fall! Planets die! But most importantly... Kids play a homebrew D&D game!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	1. An Apology

Dear reader, I'm sorry. This STORY is just another cliché.

I... I don't even know what to say. I'm so frustrated. I organized this entire masterpiece with my LARGE GAMER BRAIN, but. Fuck. I'm not a good writer, and it's hurting my ego. Turns out that my characters are stale, and the feelings I try to evoke are shallow and meaningless. I'm sick of what I have created; sick of POORLY CONSTRUCTED NIHILIST CHARACTERS, tired of PRETENTIOUS ARCS (which were constructed with the sole purpose of making me look good), but most of all, I guess I'm sick of being too smart for my own good. 

That's it. That's my major character flaw. I'm too fucking smart. It desensitizes me -- I can't empathize with regular characters because they're too dumb. It all comes down to my terrible family, really. I was force-

Reader: Get to the point. 

Whoa. Rude.

Okay. I'll give you what you want. But I should say, this STORY is probably not what you're looking for. I would know - I wrote it. 

You are imagining that this text is in fact, a butterfly. All metamorphosed, beautiful, ready to fly. As winds blow by, the butterfly floats around the sky, happy to be taken by the flow of destiny, glad to oblige with the grand scheme of things. When the sun shines, it shines for that flying insect, giving it form, presenting it to the world. Like a gift from nature.

A wonderful read - 4.3 on Goodreads. 

What you're going to get, though is a STORY full of METATEXTUAL BULLSHIT, written by a (self-proclaimed) WITTY AUTHOR who thinks they're better than you. I mean, this is not even the first chapter, and we are already beating the fourth wall to death. In other words; this text is like a worm. Dense, rough, thorough and mixed with dirt. It's not your average day-to-day larvae though; this is a stillborn worm. All bloody, swallowed by putrid smells and ocasionally twitching -- an attempt of life -- but such attempt is futile. It's dead and we know it. The chat is full of "F"s. 

However, one question remains (bickering a pitter patter on the back of your brain ): "Why? Why keep writing about this beaten up worm? Why drag out its last moments, why keep it in pain?" 

My dearest reader, it's because I have no choice. Despite what you want, despite judging looks, despite being told "ew, you're so ugly" when it was in middle school, this STORY wants itself to be told, and it wants itself to be told by ME, the WITTY AUTHOR who thinks they're better than you. Wriggling, and refusing to die. I'm not going to step on this worm to end its misery. It would ruin my BOOT. Do you want that, reader? Do you want my footwear to be temporarily ruined?

Didn't think so.

So come with me, my poor, sweet, lovable, sweet, poor, sweet reader. Come as we watch this worm's dying breath. 


	2. εlεvεnth hour

Okay, *cracks fingers* here we go. 

Darkness, at first. And afterwards of course.  
An unmistakable silence, looming all over existence, all over him. When he tried to look up to the darkness, the darkness looked back at him. When he tried to look down to look at himself, there it was again - darkness, staring back at him. It seemed to be unavoidable, but Elewen managed to find himself a respite from the ever crawling silence that chased him day by day. On that little miserable hive, he was able to find himself some sort of way to forget what he had known for sweeps.  
  
Even in his perfect hideout, silence would find cracks on the wall he had built. During his sleep, it would creep on him, circumventing light and mind. He'd dream the same recurring scene: a sea of bodies, moving slowly but frantically. An enormous mass of people, waiting for something to happen. Desperate for something to happen; like they were at some form of stasis in between sleep and wake, like they were somewhere between unimportant and relevant, like they were waiting for recognition, care, love. Attention.  
It all seemed faceless, anonymous; but recently, in these dreams, Elewen started to get closer to that never ending sea, and he started to recognize those faces - they were his. Maybe they - himself - had been waiting for him to come closer this whole time?  
Maybe Elewen was one of those bodies, just another one, trying to breathe out of this pressure he puts himself into, trying to feel something other than a swallowing feeling that crushes your bones and grasps your heart like a noose clings to a neck.  
Sometimes, he would find himself being carried by these bodies, pushed and pulled against his will, towards the dark sky. When this happened, all the faces would have a faint glad expression, like they trusted him, like he was chosen to be the one to rise. For some reason, it felt a little like it was meant to be: that, out of all those corpses left behind, he was the one supposed to ascend. Other times, it felt like he was just another body to be stepped on for a higher goal.  
  
One thing was constant, though: he always woke up in silence. A devastating, silence that filled the void of the respiteblock, and drowned everything else. Staying down, lying on his recuperacoon, his block - poorly lit - felt like a hollowed coccoon, or a hatched worm egg, empty and lifeless. He'd try to move or say something, to breathe from silence, but most times he just couldn't move, and death would hover around the block.  
  
Only after a few dozens of minutes in stasis (in which he successfully forgets his previous state of mind), Elewen gets up and lives his everyday life, like any other troll his age.  
  
An everyday life that would cease to exist today. 

*Leans back on chair*  
  
Ah. See what I mean, reader? This shit sounds cliché as hell. Starting a narrative with a dream? Where have I seen that before? Oh wait! I know! EVERYWHERE.  
I'm disappointing myself so hard right now.

Today, out of all days that I could've picked to start telling this story, is his birthday. 7 solar sweeps ago, he was born, and shortly after that, sentenced to death. Not by a social structure of any kind (as it usually is with trollkind), but merciless Nature itself. All rustbloods, like him, are taught and raised to face death prematurely with a certain apathy, but this wriggler's certain fate stood in front of him a little too early. Born with a failing heart, too weak to live more than a couple weeks; he was like a mistake of nature, a living stillborn worm.  
Whenever he has that recurring nightmare, he remembers (even if unconsciously) how it felt to be weak, to be cradled by death. That is his great unrecognized strength, honestly: death, like silence, is a language. Silence is the mother tongue of those who are stillborn.  
  
This one, however, is too much of a coward to ever make that strength useful. Afraid of himself, of his beating heart.  
Like the sea of bodies, frantically waiting to die.  
  
Out of stasis, he begins to move suddenly, like a machine. First thing he does is turn the lights on.

Let there be light. 

His block gets lit with a low red light, that flickers on and off frequently. As he stands from his recuperacoon, slowly, the kid takes a gaze around, looking at the pictures he has taken. Elewen is an enthusiast for photography, and he hangs most of his "work" around the respiteblock, hanging by some threads, linking and forming an array of uneven webs across his block. There are pictures of him and his friends, yes, but most of them are just random things he finds during his day. Mostly leftover remains of dead lusii, or a combination of chemicals that pour from the factory near his hive. The perks of living in between a factory and a lusus cemetery, I guess.  
  
Rustbloods don't get to pick where they build their hives, but Elewen is glad to live near an abandoned film factory. Ever since digital photography was invented, analog cameras and films lost popularity. When the palmhusk reached the market, this factory was done for, and it closed down. Just like the factory, the material and the defectives left in there were abandoned. Elewen sometimes visits it, because it's a somewhat fun adventure.  
It's what he intends to do, today as well. Before his "friends" come over, that is.  
  
The rustblood protagonist dresses, putting on his leather boots and his dark red overcoat. He's short, and the coat covers most of his body. His hair is kind of a fluffy ball, and looks a little bit like a helmet that has swallowed a head. As fluffy as his hair might be, it can't hide the three spiky horns stuck to the skull. Three. Some sort of prophetic, uneven number.

I'm raising my eyebrows. Oh, sorry: *raises eyebrows*. 

Elewen starts packing a few things to bring on his little visit to the factory: his GOOD OL' ANALOG CAMERA, a VERY MANLY MAN PURSE, a GRUB JUICE CAN, and INSTANT TROLL NOODLES. He's always wondered why it's called TROLL NOODLES and not just NOODLES. As he went to grab his last object of interest - his PALMHUSK - he noticed he had some messages waiting for him.

yggdrasilunGrown [YG] began to pronounce THE WORD to  unturnedReverie [UR]   
YG: hey dude  
YG: happy birthday?  
YG: kinda sucks that i couldn't be there to  
YG: well, be with you  
YG: at least we'll get to see each other during the game  
YG: don't know if im gonna have much time tho  
YG: ya know  
YG: lots of plans  
YG: my dad's been a real pain  
UR: 321 Oh dεar!!! Hεllo!!! 123  
UR: 321 I don't think anyonε has bεεn as nicε as you,,, to wish mε a happy Birthday and εvεrything!!! 123  
UR: 321 What is a Birthday though??? 123  
YG: when you're... birthed?  
YG: born  
YG: yknow, when you cut ties with the mother  
YG: take your first breath and shit  
UR: 321 Mothεr??? 123  
UR: 321 Ohhh!!! The mothεr grub!!! 123  
UR: 321 You mεan """Wriggling Day""" thεn!!! 123  


YG gets silent for a few moments. Elewen tightens his grip, and starts to breathe faster. His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy.

UR: 321 Hεllo??? 123  
UR: 321 Hεllo??? 123  
UR: 321 Hεllo??? 123  
YG: shit dude sorry got airheaded  
YG: yes i guess it's called wriggling day  


Elewen, after reading that response, didn't feel completely fine. Something dubious lied inside of him, a desperate need waiting to be satisfied. He didn't want to talk about it; but he also hated silence.

UR: 321 I,,, wantεd to know... Arε you okay??? 123  
UR: 321 You soundεd a littlε bit distant...123  


Another short period of silence. This one was way shorter than the latter, but it still made Elewen slightly worked up. YG messages once or twice a week, so it's really important to keep him interested.  
  
For people like Elewen, even the most unimportant conversation means a lot. Once you truly experience silence, you never want to hear it again.

  
YG: yeah i'm ok  
YG: you're gonna enter the game today right  
UR: 321 Yεah!!! I will!!! But,,, I wantεd to ask ... 123  
YG: ask away  
UR: 321 Wε're still... What you callεd it??? 123  
UR: 321 Boyfriεnds!!!... Right??? Wε'rε still... boyfriεnding??? 123  
YG: yeah why wouldn't we be  
YG: anyways  
YG: you called that jade girl  
YG: the fishy fuck  
YG: and the lisp guy right  
UR: 321 Yεah,,, just likε you told mε to!!! 123  
UR: 321 Thεy'vε bεεn rεal nicε to mε!!! I'm rεally glad I'm going to gεt to play S&P with thεm!!! 123  
YG: don't say it like that  
YG: please  
UR: 321 S&P??? 123  
YG: yeah i'm saying it in my head and  
YG: god it's insufferable  
YG: like give the game some credit  
YG: the name is subspaces and paradoxes  
YG: when you say it like that it sounds like some golden shower fetish game  


Oh my god.

UR: 321 I don't gεt why you don't likε it,,, but sincε it sεεms likε it mattεrs to you!!! 123  
UR: 321 All my friεnds arε calling it that!!! It just has a nicε ring to it!!! 123  
UR: 321 So don't blamε mε if I call it that by accidεnt!!! 123  
YG: ugh fine  
YG: hang on something came up  
YG: gotta go  
YG: love you  


It's a bittersweet feeling, to receive a "love you" message like that. Elewen, for a moment, remembers his dream, feeling like a body stepped on, happily, for a greater purpose.  
It's fulfilling, to be useful for someone, to be worthy of love, even if doesn't seem wholehearted. Nobody said it wasn't true, even if it didn't seem wholehearted. Nobody said it wasn't wholehearted, even if it didn't seem wholehearted.

UR: 321Lovε you too 123  


That was just a small crack on the wall Elewen built to protect himself. The sea of his nightmares began to flood his insides. No biggy, just get some duct tape, cover that crack, and in 10 minutes he won't even remember it.  
  
Well, a visit to the factory never seemed as appealing as it does now.

Look, this chapter isn't getting any shorter. The universe is at its eleventh hour and, sure, we could spend our time talking about how lonely a kid feels. We could dissect his character, show his motivations, tastes and distastes, like organs on a surgery table. But do we really want that?  
Of course, you MAY THINK you'd like that, you THINK it'd be nice to get to know ELEWEN SCHRÖD, and try to figure out his classpect and what not, but to me, that just sounds like a huge waste of time. You would agree with me, after finishing reading it: "God, why did I spend so much time reading about this lonely kid with generic feelings about being left behind?".  
Here, I'll give you an overview of what happened at the factory: Elewen went inside the factory and saw bunch of old unused camera films. *Insert deep metaphor about memories and how time doesn't go back*. Elewen then proceeded to think about his past but quickly refrained from doing so, because remembering is painful and *SNORE*.  
Instead, check out this hot narrative take.

But Elewen would have to sneak by his "lusus", and if he failed... Oh boy. He wouldn't be in trouble, but he would have to deal with that annoying metal clusterfuck. Not a single day goes by without him wishing a better "lusus" chose him. This one just keeps talking about dogs, and being "worldstar", or whatever.  
  
Poor little rustblood boy. Little does he know.  
Elewen instead chooses to stay in, looking at some of his pictures. Particularly, pictures of him and his friends.  
There's a nice one with Robynn - they were watching some of this eastern alternian cartoons (Robynn's favorite) with everyone and they decided to take a picture. There's a few FLAMING HOT GRUB CHEETO CRUMBS on their shirts, which makes it look lo-fi as fuck.  
There's another, with him and Noethe. Noethe isn't very photogenic (especially cause you can't see most of her face, because of her hairstyle and horns), but in this one she's making the V-sign gesture, and it looks kind of cute. Elewen is T-posing, like the idiot he is.

See: a plethora of characters to work with later. 

Unfortunately, Elewen doesn't have a picture with his "Boyfriend". How could they? YG is alien - he doesn't live in Alternia - which explains why he always says weird words that don't make much sense. Like "Boyfriend" for example. Yeah, they're boys, and yeah, they're friends! The term is so vague, it barely gets anything accomplished.  
Sometimes Elewen wished he'd just call him a matesprit. 

*SNORE*  
If you'll excuse me... 

The doorbell rings.  
Elewen rises suddenly, like a meerkat, but instead of afraid and hungry like a dirty mammal, he's happy and anxious to meet his friends for the first time. He rushes to the front door (quietly avoiding his "lusus", and the block it is in), and opens the door, like a maniac. His smile is almost obsessive. 

ELEWEN: 321 Hi!!! Hεllo!!! Wεlcomε!!! 123  
ELEWEN: 321 Can I gεt you anything??? 123  
ELEWEN: 321 Oh,,, I'm εlεwεn by the way!!! 123 

The girl at the door is a jadeblood, taller than Elewen. Next to her, he looks like a chubby dwarf (well, he looks like one next to anyone, to be fair).  
She is pretty muscular, and is wearing a black shirt with an embroidered symbol: three spear-like objects, connected. Her hair tied on a simple, but effective bun.  
Her eyes look down on Elewen, somewhat expectant and shy, and the boy's enthusiasm is certainly overwhelming her.  


TAMARA: \ ~~I'm here... uhm... you're UR, correct?~~  
ELEWEN: 321 That's mε!!! And you'rε ZW,,, right??? 123   
TAMARA: \ ~~Uhm... yes. I'm here to play an RPG...~~   
ELEWEN: 321 Wεll then!!! You'rε in luck!!! 123  
ELEWEN: 321 Bεcausε that is εxactly what wε're doing!!! 123  
ELEWEN: 321 !!! 123   
TAMARA: \ ~~Uh... yes. That is why I came here...~~   
TAMARA: \ ~~...~~   
TAMARA: \ ~~May I... come in?~~   
ELEWEN: 321 !!! Yes !!! 123


End file.
